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by DarkenHeart (Lexa)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Bit of biting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexa/pseuds/DarkenHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat AU. Done back before we knew for sure who Spike's Sire was (or just the way I'd rathered it been).</p><p>Shades of Angelus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

I was getting closer… closer to him, closer to home. I can feel him, in the marrow of my bones, if I close my eyes, I can still smell the cloves on his breath. I can’t help but laugh softly to myself at this though… it hadn’t been that long ago I’d seen him, yet I could remember the way his breath smelled the first time he kissed me. The first time he took me… I can still smell him. He’s using some poncy aftershave now, damn poof. I can’t help but want my Sire back.

His hotel is coming into view… its large, dark, and intimidating. Can’t help but think maybe there’s still something left of my Sire after all, the damn hotel is a blinding statement of self importance, damn poof didn’t have it in him. 

My steps get slower and slower, pain dogging every step I take forward. The uncertainty is tearing me a part. There was a time when I knew… no matter the cause my Sire would take me in his arms and make everything alright… but this isn’t my Sire. This isn’t the Vamp who turned me. This is the soul, but the lines seem so blurred now, blending effortlessly together until I’m not sure why I’ve been away from him in the first place. I just want him to take me in his arms and tell me everything’s going to be right again, that I have a place by his side… that I have meaning in this unlife of mine. 

Lost deep in dreary thoughts, I don’t even notice I’m standing in front of the Hotel, my lips moving silently to the litany of self depreciation in my head. I’m here. 

Step by step I drag myself towards the front door; making these last moments last before he… before he turns me away. The longer it takes me to greet him, the longer the illusion of safety stands secure around me. I can smell him. Poncy aftershave and all, he’s close, near the doors, waiting. He’s waiting for me. One of those Sunnydale brats must have phoned him, warned him. He’s waiting to turn me away, waiting to see what scrape I’ve gotten myself into this time. 

My head bows with weight of the world pressing down on me before I throw it back; standing tall, proud, my usual smirk firmly entrenched on my face, even though it feels like my face may break at any moment. Taking a deep un-needed breath, I step through the doors, meeting the future head on. 

II. 

Buffy had phoned to tell me he was coming. My errant childe, always getting himself into trouble, into scrapes he can’t get out of, but this time. This time he’s gone too far. He should have come home to me when it first happened. When he first… he should never have been in Sunnydale. I can feel the growl start deep in my chest, but I try to suppress it, he doesn’t need me scaring him, at least not until he’s said his piece. 

He’s so painfully thin, thinner than he should have been, his cheekbones standing out in stark relief against to pale skin, blue eyes sparkling with the glassiness of hunger and pain. So much pain reflected back out of those two blue orbs. I can see the cracks in his lips, from where he’s worried them down, broken skin, and swallowed it down. 

He’s got that cocky smirk on his face, the leather duster flapping around his ankles. But I can see the pain, the need. He’s waiting for me to toss him out, to tell him he’s on his own, that I won’t help him. It’s not going to happen, not this time. I’m through not having my family around me; I’m through denying what I am, who I am. I know that pain in his eyes, I feel it, it’s mine to. My family, my childe has finally come home. 

Mind you, can’t make it to easy on him by just swinging my arms open wide, having him walk into them. My Childe won’t take it easy; he wants it hard, hard and rough. He wants to be owned, and truth to tell, I need to own him. 

So all I do is quirk my eyebrow at him, a mannerism I’d taught him over a century ago. It’s so distinctly Angelus, I can see the shiver shake him, as he takes a double take, looking deep into my eyes, searching for the soul. Seemingly satisfied, he does something I wasn’t expecting. He sinks to his knees in front of me, head bowed and to the side, baring his neck up in offering. He couldn’t have surprised me more if he’d said he was buggering Buffy. 

He’s waiting, so I lean forward, inhaling his heady scent. He always smells of leather, smoke, and sin. He’s wickedly delicious kneeling before me, trying not to tremble, as he waits for my response, such a delicate flower. He’s reminding me more and more of the fledge he once was, desperate for approval, striving for perfection… mine. 

My tongue snakes out to gently lick along his throat, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin. He still tastes the same, the embodiment of decades of torture and dark pleasures, all gathered there on his skin. My mouth salivates at the thought of tasting the power in his veins. I can feel the change coming, and I welcome it. I embrace my true nature and sink my fangs in, past tissue and sinew, to the elixir beneath. 

He’s gasping beneath my mouth, holding perfectly still as I drink deeply from his veins. He is the sacrifice on the altar of my forgiveness, and never have I had such a worthy Sacrifice. 

I can feel him panting beneath me, as I lower him to the floor, my mouth never leaving the hollow of his throat. I can feel his hardness pressing into me, wanting me, wanting me to take him, to accept his offering. My fingers come up to tangle in his hair, as I grind my own growing erection against him. I’ve wanted him, now… now I’m going to have him.


End file.
